


CHRONICLES.

by blue000jay



Series: Secure, Contain, Protect [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, SCP, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, they r anomalies babey!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue000jay/pseuds/blue000jay
Summary: What comes next, part two.(SCP AU, a continuation of my work CLASSIFIEDS and any other drabbles I want to post for this AU as well!)
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Secure, Contain, Protect [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021857
Comments: 109
Kudos: 542
Collections: Found family to make me feel something





	1. SCP - 21515

They’re halfway to the next safehouse when Phil gets the sudden urge to stop.

So he does. He simply tucks his wings in and lets himself fall, feeling the air rush past him as he ducks down below the low-lying clouds. His hair gets a bit damp, but that’s alright. Below him, a car, driving down a winding country path.

“Stop,” he says, forcing the compulsion into his words. He’s been working on this newfound ability of his-- it frightens him and intrigues him all at once, so he doesn’t think about it. He just does what he wants, and he watches the car beneath him pull gently to the side of the road under his command. Inside are four boys-- each of them his, each of them exceedingly precious. 

“Why’d we stop?” Techno asks, since he’s the one driving the car and Phil has landed next to it, feet hitting the dirt with a thud. Phil takes a moment to shake out his wings, then glances around. They’re in the middle of nowhere.

“We need to walk,” he says, because he knows they have to go in a direction until they find… whatever it is he knows they’ll find. His hand lifts, index finger outstretched. “This way.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Tommy spills out from the backseat of the car, and Tubbo is not far behind him. Based on the way Tubbo’s rubbing his eyes Phil knows he was asleep-- he doesn’t even have to _know_ to come to that conclusion. Tommy’s more awake, and Wilbur’s getting out next as well, unfurling from the passenger seat and stretching his arms up.

“I could use a walk,” he says, and the last door slams as Techno rolls the window up and gets out.

“What the hell are you getting at?” Techno says, tossing the keys into the air and catching them before tucking them in his pocket. The car beeps as he locks it. “What do you know?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Phil says, turning. His eyes catch.

Across from them is an old, hidden service road. From the road, you’d hardly notice it. Up close, it’s much more obvious. “There,” he says.

“What is it?” Tubbo asks, yawning slightly as they cross the street behind Phil, like his little pack of ducklings. Yes, he thinks, he likes his ducklings. He watches as Tubbo ducks under his wing, dragging fingers along cool feathers, and Tommy’s right behind as they forge ahead of Phil now instead of lingering behind. They mess around for a moment at the overgrown gate-- then Tubbo goes still.

“Yes?” Phil asks. He knows, but it’s the latent knowing. Phil prefers not to know if he can help it when it comes to these boys. It’s easier to live normally with them if he just decides not to know. Now, however, Phil already had deduced what Tubbo’s about to say before he’d even landed by the car.

“This is the Foundation’s symbol,” Tubbo says quietly, stepping backwards from where he’d exposed the carved metal. “This is a Foundation gate.”

“Phil?” Techno sounds wary, stepping up beside him.

“It’s safe,” Phil reassures him. “Mostly.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Wilbur says, having also stepped forward to look at the metal and the sign of the Foundation on the gate. Tommy’s already hopped over it and heading down the overgrown path. It’s clear no vehicle has been down this way in a long time-- at least a season. The grass is nearly waist-high on Tommy, and Tubbo’s practically engulfed as they meander in. Phil follows behind. He’s the duckling now, or perhaps, the overlooking mother.

Techno hangs back, until they’re shoulder to shoulder.

“Do you know what’s up ahead?” He asks, voice flat. Ahead of them, Wilbur catches up to Tommy and Tubbo and slings his arms around the both of their shoulders, tugging them down and in as they walk. The grass swishes, and Phil runs his hands over the sharp tips of the blades. 

“Vaguely,” Phil admits. “Do you remember what I told you? The first time you visited me in that godforsaken compound?” 

Techno shuts his eyes lightly, reaches up, tugs the hair tie out of his hair in one tug. It falls loose around his chin and shoulders for a moment, then he swoops it back up and reties it back into a ponytail. “Yes,” he says as he does so. “You said you had to stay. You only knew that you did, not why. Not yet.”

“This is that same feeling,” Phil says, spreading his hand out wide as he tries to explain the unexplainable. “I know I-- no, I _know_ we must follow this path. Something is at the end. We need it. It needs us.”

“Interestin’,” Techno says, eyes on the trio ahead of them, the ones laughing loudly and shrieking as Tubbo disappears under the tops of the grass. “I wonder.”

“As do I,” Phil says, but he thinks he has a hunch already.

The site they arrive at is clearly abandoned. The service road opens up into a grassy field, and for a moment it’s hard to understand what they’re looking at. Phil catches up to the sides of Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo, and they all stand there for a second, staring. Then, Wilbur’s eyes go wide as he realizes what this is.

“Oh,” he says. “They’re walls.”

Scattered around the grassy field are vertical structures, overtaken by greenery and vines. They’re all scattered, but in an almost recognizable way. Phil is sure if he flew up into the sky, looked at the field from a bird’s eye view, he’d be able to map out the bare bones of the site and understand what they’d stumbled upon.

“Why’d you want us to find this?” Tubbo asks, and he’s gone awfully quiet. Tubbo is everything and nothing like them all at once, and he was once a part of the Foundation. If anything, Phil thinks a sight like this should make Tubbo upset. And yet, Phil knows he’s not.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Why don’t we spread out a bit and look?”

“Seriously?” Tommy tips his head, a handful of grass seed pods appearing in his hand. He’d cleared stored them for later, but now he just takes one with his opposite hand and flicks it toward Wilbur. It misses by quite a bit, but Tommy just goes for another. “What if something’s still around?”

“I’m not sure about this,” Tubbo says, wrapping his arms around his torso. Phil reaches out with one long wing, stretching and letting his feathers settle over his shoulders.

“None of you will get hurt while I am here,” he reassures Tubbo, and he knows that the slight hesitancy and fear Tubbo felt before has melted away. Phil’s the reason why, after all. Tubbo stares at him for a moment, then nods and ducks back over to Tommy’s side.

“Buddy system! I’m with Tommy,” he crows, slipping their hands together and tugging. “Let’s go explore!”

“What--” Tommy squirms for a moment, but they’re off in a direction before Tommy can hardly even raise his voice. They get muffled as they race along, and then Phil loses sight of them behind one of the crumbled walls. He knows they’re still arguing, however, lightly bickering as they pick through the ruins.

Wilbur and Techno are staring at Phil, each with their own expression. Wilbur, hesitantly curious. Techno, curiously hesitant.

“Phil,” Wilbur says. “Are you seriously sure about this?” 

“More certain than anything,” Phil reassures. “Go look around. Make sure Tommy uninventories the metal pipe he’s just found. Tetanus.” Sometimes, Phil allows himself to know things he wouldn’t otherwise. Especially when it comes to Tommy. 

“Are you coming?” Techno asks, and Wilbur’s already following Tubbo and Tommy’s trail into the clearing. Phil shakes his heads, then thrusts his thumb up toward the sky and ruffles his wings.

“Bird’s eye view,” he explains, and Techno rolls his eyes. Yet, there’s a smile on his face. Phil snorts, then carefully bends his knees and spreads his wings wide. He’s gone in a rush of wind and the flap of wings, as he fights to find the height and breeze he needs to keep himself up in the air. It takes him a minute to orient himself, as it always does, but then he’s soaring and flying and it’s wonderful.

Flying has always been his favorite part of living. It’s granted him so many freedoms, so many beautiful sights, so many chances that otherwise he might haven’t been able to grasp. It’s beautiful, flying, and his wings long for nothing more than a good stretch and loop around in the early morning sky. The four years they’d spent cramped in the site had been terrible-- Phil had made sure to stretch regularly to keep his wings functioning but the years had been terrible for his stamina. Now, he’s gotten better, and flying is as simple as thinking.

Below him is the Foundation site, spread out on a grander scale than Phil had originally thought. Scattered walls and decayed buildings sit in a formation that’s nearly identical to other sites that Phil has seen over the years, and it’s fairly close in size to the site they’d been in only a few months ago. However, this one has been taken back over by nature and clearly has sat abandoned for some time now. Phil’s surprised there are no guards, or anything at all on the premise, but he’s not about to argue with this plus of safety. He shuts his eyes after scanning the grassy area below for a moment, letting the wind rush over him and letting him know.

Tommy and Tubbo are behind a cracked but solid wall, shuffling through grass and hitting each other with sticks. Techno tips his head as he feels Phil’s presence, smiling a bit and keeping an eye out as Wilbur cracks open an old filing cabinet and struggles with the bits of papers and files inside. He knows what’s inside himself. Old SCP files, a few employee records, he pushes the boundaries of his knowing and feels for anything in specific in that cabinet--

and then something else rushes in and he snaps his eyes open and tucks his wings in to aim for the ground. Only a second later, Tubbo’s screaming.

Phil’s already there, throwing himself behind the old wall as Techno and Wilbur come skidding around the other way, parting long grass like the Red Sea as they come. Techno’s eyes are red, he’s got a weapon in hand that flashes between forms as he scans the area. Tubbo’s on his butt in the dirt, Tommy standing over him and looking mildly confused.

“Did you see it?” Phil asks as Wilbur goes over to help a terrified-looking Tubbo to his feet. All of their heads snap to him.

“See _what_?” Techno asks, the weapon in his hand settling into sword form and resting by his side, grip tight. “Phil, explain.”

“It was.” Tubbo has to gasp for air for a moment, gripping Wilbur’s arms tight. “It was so tall, and big, behind Tommy, I thought-- crap, that was scary.” 

“Behind me?” Tommy whips around as though the creature would still be there, then turns to look at Tubbo again. “Jesus fucking christ, Tubbo,”

“I know,” Tubbo says, cutting him off. “It was tall, and dark, and--”

“And this is a former Foundation site,” Techno realizes, and the knowing floods over all of them at once. Yes, Phil could explain it, but watching them reason it out is so much more fun. And better for them in the long run. Phil will not always be there to help. “It’s something else like us.”

“Someone,” Phil corrects, because he’ll give them scraps when he has to, and he doesn’t want Techno killing the thing lurking around them before they have a chance to speak. “He’s a someone.”

“Hail Mary,” Wilbur says, shaking Tubbo off his arm a minute later. “What else are you not telling us, Phil?”

“Everything,” Phil says, and that’s his go-to answer and they know that and yet they still look pissed. He sighs, pressing his fingers to his forehead, and then reaches out gently to know. The feeling sinks into the cracks of the walls around them until they’re whole again, the site shifts and rumbles under his feet, there’s a fire and screaming and people running and shouting, pictures whizzing through his mind. It’s like flipping through a notecard of a life, of someone’s story, getting only flashes and images and pictures. It makes him dizzy with glee, being able to know. Phil lifts his hand from his forehead and gently opens his eyes once more, tuning into the conversation that has been directed mainly at him for the last few seconds.

“--ld’ve said something when we got out of the fucking car,” Wilbur snaps, glancing around. “I’m just about to sing whoever the fuck this is into showing themselves.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Phil reasons. “But I think if we ask, he’ll come out himself.”

“If we ask?” Tommy says, looking hesitant. Tubbo’s mouth twists from where it had been lying in a hard, frightened line into something more interested. He turns from where he’d been standing next to Wilbur, glancing behind Tommy, and then turns again, looking into the treeline and the darker shadows there. All eyes are on Tubbo as he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts:

“Hello?” 

There’s no reply. A bird caws somewhere in the distance, and Phil knows it’s a crow, a harbinger of death, but he staunchly ignores this fact. Someone is lurking in the tall shadows of the trees and he knows he’s nervous.

“We’re not going to hurt you!” Tubbo calls out again, his voice echoing over the ruins of the site. “We’re like you! You just-- you startled me, the first time. We’re not dangerous!”

“I am,” Techno says, lifting his sword up and slashing it down again, steadily. 

“Put that away, Tech,” Wilbur says, a lilt to his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. The sword disappears and then Techno scowls, reaching out to shove Wilbur’s shoulder.

“I told you not to fucking do that--”

“Then don’t be a paranoid pussy and keep the sword away--”

“Boys.” Phil cuts in, wing extending between the two in a ruffle of feathers. “Knock it off.”

Wilbur and Techno have the decency to look ashamed for a split second. Tommy laughs, grinning at Wilbur and sticking his tongue out at him, and then Tubbo’s shouting again.

“Hello??” He calls for the second time. “See? They’re dumb!! Come out and say hi!” 

“I don’t even think there’s anyone here. Phil’s probably going fucking nuts or something--” Wilbur begins, and then there’s a _vwoop_ and suddenly, standing by the wall, is a tall, dark figure.

All of them stumble back, startled, even Phil. He knows things, yes, but sometimes there’s just enough unexpectedness to someone’s actions that he’s legitimately startled by them. And this person is one of those moments where Phil is legitimately frightened for a brief second, and then he knows that he could win a fight easily here and the fear is gone. The others are not as lucky as he-- Techno’s equipped his weapon again, choosing a battle axe this time around, and Tubbo is shoved behind Tommy and Wilbur as the two back up carefully.

“Shit,” Wilbur whispers, and Phil nods in agreement. It’s a fair sentiment. The figure is tall, looming over everyone except Phil in height. Despite this, their back is slightly hunched and hair covers their-- no, his-- eyes. Eyes that sparkle slightly, green and red. Particles are visible for a split second, then disappearing, popping off into the void and leaving behind flickers of colors in the edges of Phil’s vision. He grins.

“Hello,” he says, and knows.

The creature-- the boy-- tips his head, and then, something rings in all their ears. Phil knows the others hear it too, heads tipping and turning and Tommy whips his head around, staring accusingly at nothing at all.

_Hello._

Phil hums, stepping forward, holding his hands out with palms up. He’s trying to seem nonthreatening here, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“Hiya, mate,” he says gently. “We were looking for you.”

“And we didn’t even fucking know it,” Tommy grumbles. Phil ignores him. 

_Looking?_

“Yeah. We stopped just beyond the service road. You’re clever-- figure us out. We’re not normal people.”

_...Yes._

Phil settles a bit, glancing back at the four boys behind him and trying to think of how to proceed next. For all his knowing, now that they’re here, it’s a bit rockier. He knows what the end goal is going to be, yet has no freaking clue how to get there. The anomaly in front of him is unsure and frightened, and Phil knows why but can’t pinpoint it yet. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“What’s your name?” Someone asks from behind him, and that would be Tubbo.

_21515._

“That’s just stupid numbers,” Tommy points out unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Wilbur says, and Tubbo’s mouth is a grim firm line. “It’s a file number.”

“Well, this doesn’t look like a site.” Techno glances around, eyes skimming the broken walls and ruined, burnt-out shells of buildings. “Or at least. Not anymore.” The anomaly in front of them makes a chirping noise, curling further in on himself. Phil suddenly realizes-- he’d been seeing a story earlier, up there in the sky. A story that correlated to the kid in front of him. He’s a kid, of course, no matter how old he really is. 

_Fire_ , the voice in their heads say. _A fire broke out and the trees were sanctuary._

“I can’t imagine you let them find you again,” Phil says gently, thinking to what he knows of cold hospital beds and walls, the bright lights and constant staring and watching. 

_No._

“Good shit, big man,” Tommy says, pumping his fist in the air lightly. “They fucking sucked!” Phil smiles, because he absolutely agrees, and glances back towards the anomaly in front of them. Tall and lanky and dark, and Phil glances at him and their eyes lock and--

_vwoop._

“Where’d he go?” Tubbo asks, gasping lightly as the particles pop and color clears from their visions. He ducks out from behind Wilbur and Tommy, slick as a greased pig, and even avoids Phil’s grabby hands as he darts to the wall and the spot where their new friend had disappeared from. His fingers scrabble over the stone, trying to catch the color and study it, but it slips through his grasp. “I thought he liked us!” 

Something clicks, and then Phil knows.

“Don’t look him in the eyes,” he instructs, glancing around and tucking his wings closer to his back. He cups his hands around his mouth to shout like Tubbo had earlier despite not really needing to. “Sorry about that!” He calls out. “I hadn’t realized!”

There’s a beat of silence, and then that same sound, and their new friend is back.

 _Sorry_ , he says gently, voice ringing through all their ears. Techno grimaces. 

“This is so weird to get used to,” he says, reaching up and patting his own ear with the palm of his hand like he’s trying to get water out of it. “It’s like it’s in my head. Like the voices, but… louder.” 

_Sorry sorry sorry_ , 21515 says, and they sound distinctly apologetic. _So many eyes._

“Not your fault,” Phil says, trying to be reassuring. “I hadn’t realized until a second ago. It’s uncomfortable, right?”

 _It is involuntary_ , 21515 says. _Cannot control itself._

“Yourself,” Phil says, and he keeps his gaze off of their new friend. “You’re a you, not an it. I know it’s going to be a bit difficult, but you’re you.” 

_Me_ , 21515 says, twiddling his fingers gently. His mouth shifts, and Phil for the first time takes it in. A shifty, gooping, melty mess of a mouth, drips and lines of… something criss-crossing over what looks like very sharp teeth underneath. _Aggressive when perceived. Docile when accepted._

“Is that what they wrote about you?” Tubbo asks, and he’s been keeping his hands over his eyes. 21515 nods. 

“I bet we could find the file,” Tommy says, glancing around. “Maybe. This place is fucking wrecked but some of the papers are still lying around.” 21515 shifts from foot to foot, and a flood of discomfort sinks across all of their minds as he wordlessly shares his thoughts on that idea.

“Oh, that is unpleasant,” Wilbur mutters, rolling his neck to crack it and throwing his shoulders back. Phil settles his feathers where they’d fluffed up at the feeling, and Tommy’s shuffling sideways over to Tubbo until they’re both standing close enough to slip their hands into the other’s. Techno doesn’t seem affected, but Phil can see he’s standing stiffly, shoulders tense. 

_Sorry_ , 21515 says in their heads, a whisper of his voice before. _Difficult controlling itself._

“Yourself,” Tubbo corrects, and Phil feels his chest swell with pride. “I keep calling you numbers in my head,” Tubbo says a second later, and he steps forward a bit while talking. “Do you really not have a name?”

_Can’t remember._

“Phil?” Tubbo turns to him, eyes sparkling. “Do you know?”

Phil sighs, and reaches out with his knowing, sinking his invisible fingers into the mind melding with his. 21515 visibly shudders and stiffens in front of him, a physical reaction to the intrusive action Phil is attempting now. However, what he finds almost startles him. There are flashes of images, flashes of emotion, but most of 21515’s mind is… empty.

 _You are so cold_ , 21515 says gently. It’s more private, and Phil knows it’s just to him. No one else can hear. It’s just them two, sinking into this sequestered headspace. Outside, Phil knows they’re just standing there, and Tommy is poking Phil’s torso, and Techno is scolding him quietly, but for now it’s just them two standing alone.

“Side effect,” Phil says. “Of dying. Do you want me to find your name? I could.” Phil can feel 21515 thinking about it, considering it, and then the last remaining walls are taken down in a silent agreement. Phil delves.

“Ranboo,” he says, snapping back to the physical world and reeling for a proper second before steadying himself. Across from him, 21515-- no, Ranboo, is shaking his head and running his long fingers up and down his arms as if settling invisible goosebumps.

 _So cold_ , he mutters, and Phil laughs slightly. 

“Sorry,” he says, glancing around at the curious faces staring between the two of them, eyes focused mostly on Phil. “His name’s Ranboo.”

“Ranboo!” Tubbo grins, sounding gleeful as he turns and stares at some point on Ranboo’s chest. Tubbo is dwarfed by him, and yet seems to show no fear as he goes up to him, dragging Tommy along. Tommy is more hesitant, digging his heels into the dirt, and yet he goes anyway. “It’s nice to meet you!”

 _Nice to meet you_ , Ranboo echoes. _Names?_

“I’m Tubbo,” Tubbo says, clearly taking the hint. He holds up Tommy’s hand. “This is Tommy! He can hold stuff in invisible pockets. Phil’s the ones with the wings, he’s some sort of god, I’m not one-hundred percent sure, honestly. Wilbur’s the one with brown hair-- he sings and people listen to him! And Technoblade is over there. He might seem mean, but he’s actually really nice, and really good at fighting people and keeping us safe.” Tubbo’s smile is like the sun, bright and shining. Ranboo settles as Tubbo talks, his fingers shifting around less and less and his posture becoming less hunched, more open. 

“We came from Site 23,” Tubbo persists. “I was a scientist there, but uh, well. I kind of realized stuff wasn’t great so we broke out. And then Phil made the site… not exist? I’m pretty sure? It’s whatever. When it comes to Phil, I find it easier not to ask!”

Ranboo glances towards Phil, and Phil shrugs. Even he doesn’t understand what he does sometimes.

Tubbo continues: “But, we ran away and now we live together and it’s great. Techno teaches Tommy and I stuff, so does Phil. Wilbur writes music! We were heading to a safe house out here until Phil told us to pull over and we did, ‘cause we listen to Phil--”

“Christ, Tubbo,” Tommy whines, giving his hand a squeeze. Phil, who had been watching Tubbo with fondness, turns his attention to Tommy next. “Take a fucking breather. You’re going to freak him out.”

“I just want to fill him in! He must be so confused!”

_Yes, a bit._

“See?”

“Tubbo!” Wilbur cuts in, slapping his hands down on Tubbo’s shoulders and glaring in Tommy’s direction, shifting so he’s got a hand on both of them. “Shut up, alright?”

“Don’t be mean to Tubbo,” Tommy pouts, despite the fact he’d been doing just that.

“I can hold my own,” Tubbo shoots back, but they fall back with Wilbur after a minute, compliant. Ranboo is clearly glancing between them all with a wide-eyed look, although it’s hard to make out facial expressions on his face and without a clear mouth to express himself with. While Phil and the rest of them are fairly humanoid, Ranboo is truly an anomaly. His form is-- for the lack of better phrasing-- monstrous. Phil takes the moment to scan him over carefully while he’s distracted, taking in what he can of the other before he notices Phil’s gaze on him. He’s taller than the rest of them except for Phil, wearing a somewhat beaten-up black and white suit that melds into his skin at times. His skin is mottled black and white, splitting his face distinctly down the middle. And his mouth-- a goopy mess, dripping, and sharp teeth behind. His eyes are split as well, green on the black side and red on the white, and there are no pupils. His hair is fluffy, and Phil knows that if he were to touch it the strands would be wiry and distinctly inhuman. 

Ranboo’s gaze flicks to Phil’s, and he knows he’s been caught.

 _Curious_ , Ranboo says to them all, and Phil laughs a bit sheepishly.

“Yes,” he says. “Curious about a few things regarding you, mate.”

 _Okay_ , Ranboo says, and Phil can’t figure out if he’s amused or concerned.

“Is this why we stopped?” Techno finally cuts in again, stepping forward and putting a hand on Phil’s arm. They lock eyes and argue for a moment inside their heads. Techno is the most precious to Phil. They’ve spent the most time together. Talking without physically speaking is an easy feat when you’ve spent a better part of two millenia living in each other’s heads. Techno is confused, concerned, and wary, but Phil is open here. He’d known if they stopped here, they would find something important left behind.

“I hate it when they do this,” Tommy complains. Phil pays him no mind. “I always feel left out.”

“To be fair, you and Tubbo do it too--” Wilbur’s voice cuts out, and Phil glances up to look at him briefly. He’s staring at Phil and Techno, and then Phil looks at Techno again. 

“This is what you knew,” Techno says quietly. He spreads a hand out. “Like you knew us.”

“Yes,” Phil says, and the meaning behind that is implicit. Phil extends his knowledge, and then they all know. Even Ranboo gasps, and it’s the first time he’s ever felt Phil’s knowing, settling over their collective minds like a heavy, warm blanket. Phil knows it will not be the last.

Tubbo is the first to shake it off, weaseling out of Wilbur’s grip in order to bound back up to Ranboo, careful not to look directly in his eyes.

“Would you like a ride?” He asks, holding out his hand.

Phil knows before it happens that Ranboo will say yes.

* * *

_In an abandoned field, a paper shuffles in the mild morning wind._

**Item #:** SCP - 21515 

**Object Class:** Euclid

 **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP - 21515 is contained at Containment Zone 58, at Site 01 in a rural part of the United Kingdom. SCP - 21515 was transferred here after being located in the United States and subsequently escaping, then being found in the United Kingdom after an apparent teleportation event. SCP - 21515 is to be retained in a containment unit in the basement of Site 01, and must remain in this unit at all times. The walls of the unit are six feet thick, made of solid concrete and rebar. Due to the nature of this SCP, it cannot leave it’s unit without the risk of escape, so all testing must be done on-site. 

SCP - 21515 does not have a humanoid biology, so does not therefore seem to need to eat. However, it has occasionally requested food, and this food has been provided on occasion. During these food sessions, SCP - 21515 was observed to have poked and prodded at the meal until leaving the uneaten food in a corner of the unit. When asked about this, SCP - 21515 only replies with the word “sentiment.” 

**Description:** SCP - 21515 at first glance appears humanoid. Upon further inspection, SCP - 21515 seems to have insectoid traits. It’s skin is made of a mottled black and white rough substance, similar in touch to a lizard’s skin, and any clothing put on by the subject melds into it’s skin over the course of a three to four day period. After the clothing is fully melded, the subject will always ask for more and the process will repeat. SCP - 21515’s skin tone splits down the middle of it’s face, with one eye being red and the other green. The subject has no pupils. 

SCP - 21515 is able to teleport to any location in the vicinity, and has clearly been able to make it across the ocean after it’s appearance in the United Kingdom. Teleportation can be voluntary or involuntary, and SCP - 21515 is triggered by eye contact. Any sort of eye contact with SCP - 21515 will cause it to teleport at random, and sometimes up to five miles away. However, SCP - 21515 is not able to teleport through walls or obstacles six feet thick, although can teleport through thinner walls and doors. Special care must be taken when entering SCP - 21515’s containment unit in order to keep it from teleporting away. 

Prolonged eye contact with SCP - 21515 causes it to enter a state of intense rage and upset. _(Glasses, such as sunglasses and goggles, have been shown to elongate the tolerance 21515 has for eye contact, and anyone entering the containment cell is advised to wear a pair.)_ The SCP has been known to use it’s long claw-like fingers and sharp teeth to tear and bite at whoever had been staring at it (see **Test Log 21515-096** ). After the subject of SCP - 21515’s rage has either been removed from view or killed, SCP - 21515 will return to it’s docile state. When interviewed about these lapses, SCP - 21515 does not recall anything about them and in fact will deny having done anything of the sort. When shown images or proof of these encounters, SCP - 21515 will become intensely distressed and hums to itself, the same tune over and over. SCP - 21515 has rudimentary language skills, although cannot speak aloud due to a lack of physical vocal chords and constraints of “skin” over the mouth that otherwise retract when agitated. Instead, SCP - 21515 communicates through telepathic means.

**Test Log 21515-096:**

**Date:** █/█/██

 **Subject:** D-843, a 24-year-old male. Left alone in a room with SCP - 21515 restrained.

D-843 was introduced to SCP - 21515 and left restrained in the SCP’s containment room. The subject was instructed to try to maintain eye contact for up to thirty seconds with the SCP. The subject managed to keep eye contact for approximately 25.8 seconds before SCP - 21515 started to show increased signs of stress, and began to teleport around the room at random. The subject struggled a bit to escape, looking slightly worried, but was reassured through earpiece that everything would be alright and to continue holding eye contact as much as he could. Due to SCP - 21515 teleporting around the room, the subject found it difficult to keep elongated eye contact, but after around three minutes the SCP caught the subject’s gaze again. They held eye contact for approximately 45.9 seconds, during which the subject seemed to get increasingly distressed. At the end of the 45.9 seconds, SCP - 21515 descended on the subject and terminated him. After SCP - 21515 came out of it’s aggressive state, approximately five minutes and twenty-four seconds later, it seemed confused at the mess in it’s containment center and stayed huddled in one corner for the rest of the day, humming. 

**Test Log 21515-097:**

**Date:** █/█/██

 **Subject:** D-745, 34-year-old female. Left alone in a room with SCP - 21515 unrestrained.

D-745 was instructed to enter SCP - 21515’s containment center and speak freely with it. The subject was not informed of SCP - 21515’s tendency to get aggressive due to eye contact. Upon entering, the subject and SCP avoided each other for the most part, while the subject answered aloud to any of SCP’s questions. 

After around six minutes inside the containment center, the subject apparently caught SCP - 21515’s eye and the two began a “staring” contest. SCP - 21515 started humming 14 seconds into the contest, and got more and more agitated despite not teleporting around the room as seen in previous experiments. Eventually, the subject broke the gaze and glanced downwards, and at that moment SCP - 21515 became enraged fully and terminated the subject despite the menial conversations the two had shared. Afterwards, SCP - 21515 teleported into a corner and refused to turn around for three days. 

**Test Log 21515-098:**

**Date:** █/█/██

 **Subject:** D-957, 27-year-old male. Allowed to roam freely in a locked down section of the compound designed for this experiment in mind.

After the completion of a specialized experiment center attached to SCP - 21515’s cell, D-957 was brought to the SCP and instructed to stare at it through the door window (unbroken eye contact) for sixty seconds. Once SCP - 21515 had entered an appropriate state of aggression, the subject was told to run and hide with the hope that he could find a space in the testing chambers for him to hide. Over the next twelve minutes, the subject was chased by SCP - 21515. SCP - 21515 repeatedly used it’s teleportation to get ahead of the subject and cut him off, as well as seemingly just to startle him or lurk in the hallways. Multiple attempts were tracked from the SCP to escape, ending with it slamming into walls instead of being able to teleport through. After twelve minutes had passed, SCP - 21515 had either gotten too frustrated or was so enraged that it finally truly attacked the subject and terminated him. This test saw increased levels of aggression than any other tests before-- it seems the area to roam and the hunt of the subject stressed SCP - 21515 to disturbing degrees, and the escape attempts were clearly attempts to teleport farther away, perhaps to collect itself or find others to harm. 

Interviews of SCP - 21515 after the experiment showed less verbalization than before. In fact, the SCP’s vocabulary seemed to have regressed. Monitoring is to be kept tight over the next few days in order to track how this test affected it’s mental state, and whether it can be repeated again with a variety of subjects. 

_The rest of the pages are missing, or burnt. Probably for the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo! if you enjoyed, please leave a comment or kudos, it really helps a lot :) 
> 
> i'll be posting chapters of these little things inspired by my main work in this series, CLASSIFIEDS! so if you're into SCPs and like SBI or Dream Team, be sure to click on the series and check those out! <3


	2. ranboo.

Ranboo’s new family is odd. 

He hesitates to think of it as a family, in all reality. He knows they are family-- he can correlate that word with them. Happiness + bonds = family. Not necessarily blood relation, but there’s invisible strings of fate that Ranboo can see there, tying them all together. He ignores the strings reaching out his way for the most part, keeping his fingers and mind to himself as much as he can. Telepathy is helpful on some occasions. When you’re trying to gain the trust of practical gods, too tactile for their own good-- well, it’s not exactly the most wonderful thing to have.

But Ranboo’s had it his whole life, so he supposes he’s well-practiced at keeping to himself.

“Ranboo?” 

Tubbo. Tubbo, who’s favorite color is green, who adores nature and the outdoors, yet never hesitates to pour salt on a slug or methodically hold a magnifying glass to ants. The first time Ranboo had seen that happen he’d flinched away, teleporting to inside the safe house and the space he’d claimed as his own in the attic. That clinical look on Tubbo’s face reminded him too much of the scientists from  **B̴̡͔̞̠̰̻̙̼̜̪̞̜͑̀͑̇̽͗́̍ę̶̉͊͑f̷̝̤̳̝̟͈͓̱͕̼̥̉̊̾̈́̌̾͒̐͜o̶̡͎̫͍̜̪͖͍͎̖̤͉͎̭͗̈́̒̎̒̀̾̐̐͝͝r̸̡̥͈̩̥͈̣̦͎̩̘̯̰̓̋͑͆̌̆̒̋̍̓͊ě̴̟̥̬̲̭͓̼̙̬̫͊̈̓͛** . Which made sense, considering Tubbo had also been a scientist. 

But Tubbo was also funny, and made jokes, and never looked Ranboo in the eyes. He included him in the conversations, taught Ranboo how to tell a knock-knock joke, and always made sure there was a place setting at the table for him regardless if Ranboo was joining them for dinner. Tubbo’s favorite color was green and he loved bees, loved them enough that Tommy had stolen matching bracelets for the whole family from a fancy jewelry store with bee charms on the sterling silver. The metal burnt his skin, but Ranboo kept the piece tucked in a pocket at all times despite it, until the fabric had melded too much with his skin and it needed to be transferred to the next. 

Yes, Ranboo liked Tubbo. He was loud and inquisitive, but also quiet and a good listener.

And always on Tubbo’s hip-- Tommy. Tommy, who was loud and obnoxious and annoying. Who tugged Ranboo along by the hand and did not flinch when their skin touched. Who stole things relentlessly from anyone, a true kleptomaniac. Fiercely, desperately protective of their family, and yet incredibly sad all at once. Ranboo had glimpsed that sadness once, a trauma that scarred so deep Ranboo could not see the end of it, a gaping inky hole in the middle of Tommy’s colorful mind. He could see how Tommy tried to fill that hole constantly-- maybe filling his inventory was a placebo, no matter how poorly it worked.

Ranboo doesn’t like looking into people like that, but he thinks maybe he’d gotten a better grasp on Tommy’s personality that way. He’d leaned into the pranks more. Softened his tone when he could. Spoke to Tommy the most out of anyone, other than Tubbo. Yes, Tommy was rough around the edges and angry and mean, but he was also tender and gentle and took the magnifying glass away from Tubbo, frowning and shaking his head and stomping the burnt ants to end their misery. Ranboo liked Tommy, no matter how much trouble he got them all into.

Phil was usually the one who found them and made them feel like they were in trouble. He always knew. He always knew everything, and so Ranboo felt most at ease around Phil. He didn’t have to hold back when he was around Phil-- Phil knew everything anyways, and Ranboo let himself know in turn. Phil felt like snow. Phil felt soft and powdery and damp, wet clothes sticking to skin and lingering uncomfortably for ages after it had been taken off. Ranboo didn’t touch Phil’s mind-- he’d seen it once before, and that had been enough. But Phil is kind, and Phil is loving, and Phil’s feathers are the softest thing Ranboo thinks he’s ever touched in his whole, entire life. It had taken a while for Phil to let Ranboo touch them-- no. It had taken Ranboo a while to work up the courage to ask. And Phil, eyes sparkling, had said of course.

Phil was protective and vicious, blood painting his hands and face when it was necessary. Phil was a god of some kind, in tune with the world. Phil some nights curled up on their couch, comically too-large for it, and hid in his wings, shuddering, deep breaths overtaking him. Nights like those, Tubbo and Tommy retreat to their rooms, and Ranboo hides, and Technoblade appears.

Technoblade, with his red eyes. Technoblade, with pink hair long enough to braid. Technoblade who is scary and gone most days and comes back bloody, but who stops to pet dogs in the street and lets Tommy braid his hair and reads to Tubbo out of books the other couldn’t understand. He knows too much about Rome and history in general, memory perfect to Ranboo’s imperfect. The red in his vision that Ranboo shies from-- how similar Technoblade is to Phil, with his godly knowing and powers beyond their comprehension. Technoblade is rougher around the edges than Phil. Just as old, but less tempered. It’s not a bad thing, but it frightens Ranboo. He lets it frighten him. It’s good for his mind to let it scare him.

The feared Technoblade, a surprisingly good cook and an okay singer. His words meld with Wilbur’s, each song known by heart as his bass rumbles alongside Wilbur’s baritone, Tommy’s occasionally layering over in tenor. It’s a mismatched melody of love, and Ranboo finds himself delighted. The only music he’d had before had been the tunes provided by his own empty, decaying mind. But now, he’s got thousands of melodies to go to when he needs them, provided by a singer with vocal chords that pour out honey. 

Wilbur’s voice is the prettiest thing Ranboo has ever heard. That’s not saying a lot, considering his history, but Ranboo finds it comforting in some way. Wilbur’s mind is plagued by darkness that Ranboo does not want to venture into, so he doesn’t. But he recognizes it, hums along to Wilbur’s songs, learns what his favorite type of tea is. He doesn’t ask about the scars on his throat or the aversion to sharp tools. He ignores the nights when Wilbur cannot sleep and instead paces in the living room, Ranboo sitting quietly on the couch.

Wilbur does not talk to Ranboo a lot. They just exist together, whether it be late at night or following behind Tommy’s rambling existence in the bright sunlight. Ranboo does not address the darkness in Wilbur’s head, and Wilbur does not look Ranboo in the eyes. They have a mutual understanding, and Ranboo is just fine with that.

They are not his family. But Ranboo allows himself to think--  _ not yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is cute for anyone interested-- i wrote it in a haze last night as crow and mads talked to me abt this au LMAO. if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or comment!


	3. safe house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> george and phil is an interesting combo. what are your thoughts?

The safe house is odd.

George hasn’t been here too much. He likes their place far better than this weird cottage out in the countryside of France-- but he’s never really been someone who likes rural places anyways. He finds himself more at home in the middle of cities, with other people around. Witnesses in case anything went wrong. Dream and Sapnap by his side with their constant, reassuring presence. Here, in this safe house, George finds himself very alone in the hallway.

There’s a thin carpet running down the wooden floorboards, worn red and grey and gold. It has tassels on the end, and he runs the tip of his sneaker over them before padding down the center. There’s a wooden stand sitting in the corner of the hall, by the doorways, and he takes a second to study the picture frames on top. It’s a family-- a girl, a mother, a father, a young baby held in the mother’s arms. It’s not the family that lives here now, he knows. No, a picture of them would be far more interesting. And more incriminating. There’s a mirror just along the hall and his gaze finds it, a long, thin thing that shows himself back with a little bit of warped incorrectness in the corner.

It’s a lived-in house, worn down and made familiar by generations of hands. It should feel homely. George just feels vacant.

Something creaks in the kitchen. Not surprisingly, because there are five to six people living here at the moment, and Dream and Sapnap are visiting with him as well. They come together like this sometimes, their two merry bands of anomalies. Dream likes to spar with Technoblade, pushing himself and the still-unnatural abilities that he refuses to let George take away. Sapnap spends his time arguing with Tubbo and Tommy and they all mash together in a group of special things, extraordinary people, survivors. 

George picks at the hems of his gloves and turns to push open the swinging door of the kitchen.

Standing at the counter, making tea with his head bowed, is Philza. His wings are a clear signal of who it is before George can even register his height or face, and he’s not surprised. The older man always seemed like a homebody to George. He moves to sit at the kitchen table (another worn piece of wood that is smooth to the touch), quiet as he takes in the steam of the hot water and the sun coming in through the kitchen windows. The curtains are a light yellow, or maybe green if that’s what he can see. Phil is also wearing a yellow-ish outfit, like a robe, tied around the waist. His wings are tucked against his back, and deftly avoid knocking anything in the room as he turns to face George and also sit at the table. He absolutely  _ dwarfs  _ George-- nearly double his size, after all, but strangely George isn’t frightened. He never has been around Phil, despite knowing practically that Phil could end them all with a snap of his fingers. 

There’s a second tea in his hands that finds its way in front of George. It’s Earl Grey, with a dash of milk and a spoonful of brown sugar.

George picks it up to sip it, wondering how Phil knew how to perfectly make his favorite drink. The mug is hot even through the fabric of his gloves.

“Did Dream and Techno run off?” Phil asks a few minutes later. They’d sat in silence for a bit, just blowing gently across their drinks and taking in the morning air. The window is open, George notices for the first time, and a breeze shuffles the curtains slightly. It’s serene.

“Yeah,” he says, finding his throat sort of clumpy and hard to speak through. He tries to clear it, then sips his tea again. “They all did.”

“And you stayed behind?” Phil inquires. George tips his head, shifting his gaze from the open window to Phil, and finds an expression of polite interest on his face.

“I think something made me stay,” he admits. He’s not accusing Phil of anything, but by the way Phil’s face goes neutral calm, he’s hit the nail on the head. “Why?”

“If you want to go, you can go,” Phil says. “I don’t mean to do the things I do sometimes.” George knows this is true without thinking too hard about it. If he wanted to, he could leave this perfectly-made tea on the table and get up and go outside, hunt down Sapnap by the sound of his voice alone. He could, and yet. 

“I have questions,” George says. Phil quirks an eyebrow. “About… you. About myself. You’re good at answering questions.”

“Sometimes,” Phil says. “Sometimes I am good at answering questions. I knew you had them. But I don’t know what they are.” 

“How do you know?” George asks, a surge of boldness rushing through his veins. It’s not like fire, no-- more like a warm drink, settling in his bones and filling him with confidence. “The stuff. How does it work?” 

Phil leans back in his chair, wings draped over the back and trailing along the floor. They’re gorgeous, really, and George is kind of jealous. Feathers shimmer purple and grey, and they’re huge, frankly. They’re imposing. Protective. Wonderful. George wonders what it’s like to fly. “I’m not even sure myself,” Phil admits a second later, tipping his mug in his hand. It looks tiny against Phil’s frame, but in an almost proportionate way. “I just know things. Not always specific. And there’s a range, of course. I’m sure I can push myself to make it wider, but I feel like that would be quite overwhelming.”

“Too much knowledge?” George prompts. Phil nods.

“I’d know too much. It gets overwhelming even now. When we live in cities and towns-- I’m able to know everything about everyone around us. It can be hard to tune out. It’s like little voices, sometimes.” Phil’s eyes get distant for a split second. “But here, there’s only us to worry about, and the landscape. Tubbo and Sapnap are by the creek. Techno’s laying a trap for Dream, Dream is tracking him through the brush a few minutes away. Tommy and Wilbur-- they’re farther out, nearly by the road.” His eyes clear, and Phil smiles lightly. “Ranboo’s upstairs. Writing in his book.” 

“Right,” George says. “And we’re here.”

“I don’t need to look to know that,” Phil says. “I can see you with my own two eyes.”

George smiles, pressing his palm flat to the mug and sitting there for a second like that, feeling the heat permeate his glove and then his skin, warming his palm and letting sweat accumulate. Phil is silent across from him, and George is infinitely grateful for it.

“How did you get to be like that?” He eventually asks. Phil sighs, long and hard, ending with a tiny chuckle.

“I died,” he says simply. “I was born a long time ago. I died in the snow and cold and something brought me back to how I am now.”

“What?” George asks. “What brought you back? Did you see anything?”

Phil’s eyes are on him, and there’s a chill there that wasn’t before. George wants to shrink under his gaze, yet does not. “Why?” Phil finally asks. “Did  _ you  _ see something?”

His tea is a pale milky color, the bag rising and falling slightly as he messes with the string. It surfaces for a brief moment, a flash, just like the memory he has of what he saw in that bright white place.

“Yes,” he finally admits. “Just before we escaped for good. After I…”

“Saved your friend.” 

“Dream,” George corrects.

Phil nods. “He’s quite long-lived. He’ll live for a while longer as well. You didn’t fully get rid of everything he is,” he says, then sips his tea nonchalantly.

“I know. He’s told me about it before. I don’t like--” George inhales. “I don’t like touching him. It makes me nervous.” There’s no point in hiding anything from Phil, he supposes. The other would just know it anyways. Despite that fact, saying those words feel like spitting nails out of his mouth, a sharp pointy mess of a confession.

Phil’s gaze drops towards the gloves.

“I don’t like touching anyone anymore,” George admits quietly. “Especially here. I’m scared I’ll accidentally…”

“Make us normal?” Phil asks, humming lightly under his breath. George nods. “What if that’s what we wanted?”

“You’d want me to?” George asks, head snapping up from where he’d been staring at his tea, swirling it anxiously. Phil meets his gaze, then shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want you to. But in theory, if we did, would you?”

“I don’t know,” George says, glancing back down at his tea. “I don’t even know how I work.”

“Well, if you want to get sciencey about it,” Phil starts, “your hands emit a liquid that works like an infection does. It shifts from cell to cell in our bodies and changes whatever’s different about them back to normal. I imagine it would be slightly painful for people like me, but for Tommy or Wilbur it would most likely be painless.”

George blinks. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.” Phil laughs. “That’s my whole thing, mate. I  _ know  _ things. I don’t always understand what I know, but I can certainly try and explain it.” 

George sits there for a second, then lifts his tea primly to his lips. “That’s so weird,” he says. “So weird.”

Phil laughs again, and they fall into a comfortable silence for a second as they both drink. George feels a little better-- still tense, still unsure, but it’s easier when you know exactly how you work. 

“Is there any way to stop it?” He asks. “My hands? From making it?”

“You’re immune to your own abilities,” Phil says gently. “So. No. Not in any way I know.”

“Oh.” George looks down, hands falling and twisting in his lap, black fabric scrunching up in between his palms as he presses them together. It’s not disappointing-- well, maybe a little bit it is. All he’s ever wanted is to be normal. And he was normal for a little bit, until now, until he’d found out about the Foundation, until--

“Why don’t you have another sip of tea?” Phil’s voice gently interrupts his internal downwards spiral, and almost unwillingly, George reaches out and brings the mug to his lips. It burns. It grounds him. “You’re alright, mate.” And just like the tea dripping into his stomach and warming his core, those words flow through him and settle something inside. 

“You--” George has to take a breath. “You are terrifying.” 

“Sorry,” Phil apologizes, although he doesn’t look too sorry. “Didn’t want you freaking out on me.”

“How the hell are you…. what you are?” George asks, once again curling his fingers around his mug. Phil shrugs.

“I died. I came back. I told you earlier. You’re colorblind, not deaf,” he quips, and George can’t help but roll his eyes. That’s ridiculous, and he can’t believe even Phil’s teasing him for this shit now. He can see just fine-- color’s a little off, but it really doesn’t matter. Stupid. 

“Right,” George says. “But  _ how _ ?” 

“That’s something I don’t know.” Phil tips his head, eyes tracking out the window and across the fields the house lies on, tall grass rippling in the morning sun. The curtain shuffles gently in the breeze, and Phil sighs along with it. “You saw something.”

“Yes.”

“What was it?” Phil’s leaning forward, ever so slightly.

“I can’t really remember,” George admits, leaning away ever so slightly.

Phil smiles. “Yes you can.” 

And he can. 

“It was so bright,” George says, the words spilling out of his mouth almost unwillingly. He tries to maybe fight it-- he doesn’t want to tell Phil-- but doesn’t he? Phil, who had certainly experienced something similar and had lived through it just like him? Phil, who is something powerful and strong but nothing compared to that presence he’d felt in that liminal space between worlds. “Darkbright. Like-- like it was so dark it was bright, and there was this person-- or. Or a thing? I had Dream’s mask with me, in my hands, and she took it from me. She said something about looking for it, said I’d done her a favor.” 

“Go on,” Phil says, and he’s leaning back again in his chair. His face is entirely neutral. That compulsion from a moment ago is gone now, but George finds himself continuing anyways.

“It was quick,” he says. “Less than a minute. She was made of bright light too. After she took the mask from me she sort of… expanded? And then she was gone but she was everywhere too and I could still hear her and then I woke up.” George gestures lightly. “And I was in the medical bay, and Dream was there but he was neutralized.” 

The words hang in the air for a long moment, in which Phil lifts his tea to gently sip and George stares out the window at the shimmering pale grass, the sunlight beaming across the fields. Nothing is exchanged between them for a few seconds, and then finally Phil sighs.

“When I died,” he says. “It was a very long time ago. In your history books, I believe the period is called the prehistoric period. Think… Stonehenge.” George thinks about Stonehenge. It dawns on him that Phil is very, very old. “I died in a snowstorm. I don’t remember much about my previous life, but I know that much. I died in a snowstorm, and I awoke in a bright place with what I believe to be the same entity.” 

“The bright woman,” George says. It’s not a question. Phil nods anyways.

“Yes.” He sighs, settling back into his chair, wings shuffling. “We had a conversation, much of which I cannot remember. Then I woke up, and I was like this. The transition period was… uncomfortable to say the least. I had to learn how to fly, how to control the knowing, how to understand what I was.”

“So she made you into this?” George asks, gesturing with a hand. “Like how she took the mask from me?”

“I believe so.” Phil smiles faintly. “Don’t tell Techno I told you, but that is also how he came to be. Just a little later than I did. He came around around the Roman era. Born out of blood.”

George sips his tea. “Damn.”

“Damn indeed,” Phil says lightly, laughing quietly to himself. “As far as I know, we’re the only three. Dream might’ve seen her as well, but if he has he doesn’t know it himself. I’ve searched for anything about her-- the Foundation had next to nothing on it, and they were the most comprehensive I’ve ever seen. According to an agent of theirs, someone called Jacobs, that white space was called the Inbetween.”

“The Inbetween,” George repeats. “Like in between life and death?”

“Could be,” Phil says. “I think humans just like to name things.” 

“I think you’re right,” George says, and they both fall silent. The curtains shuffle in the mid-morning breeze. A floorboard creaks upstairs. The grass sighs in waves, and George’s mug of tea is nearly empty as he turns it around in hands, still gloved. He’s not sure if he’ll ever take them off. And he has so many more questions, so after a moment he opens his mouth--

“One,” Phil says abruptly before he can speak. “Two. Three--”

“PHIL!” There’s a bang and a shout, the front door thudding open and angry footsteps stomping down the hall that George had walked just a little while before. More footsteps, more voices, and then Tommy’s entering the kitchen and he’s soaked. “Look at what that bitch made me do!”

Phil glances over at George with a wry smile, and George hides his own behind the rim of his drink. Wilbur and Tubbo, both laughing hysterically, file in behind Tommy, and Sapnap comes in as well a second later. He’s grinning, arms crossed, and saunters over to lean on George and the back of his chair. That’s one-third of his heart right there, and George settles back minutely as Phil glances over at a soaked Tommy. His chest settles. Whatever lonely, anxious feeling that had been whirling inside of him for the past hour is mostly gone now, just by Sapnap’s presence, the warmth of his sun-kissed skin against George’s back and on top of his head.

“What?” He asks, and Tommy’s face is bright red.

“I wanted to talk to Tubbo and this absolute asshole  _ sang  _ me right into the creek-- fucking-- I’m all wet and disgusting and they did nothing but  _ laugh-- _ ”

“It was funny!” Tubbo gets out between hiccups. Phil snorts, wings rustling and making room for them all in the small kitchen.

“It was pretty funny,” Sapnap whispers into George’s ear, making him snort. He tips his head up, catching the grin on his face and grinning right back. 

“Wilbur,” Phil says, but the scolding tone is underlaid by amusement. “What did I say about--”

“Gogy’s up!” Wilbur cuts through, grinning wildly at George. “Sleepy Gogy, good to see you, did Phil do the creepy interview with you this morning? He said he wanted to.”

“Fuck off,” George says lightly. Wilbur laughs. Tommy screeches.

The house is less lonely now, and so is George. Phil’s conversation will weigh heavily on his mind no matter what-- he still has so many questions. But for now, he lets them float to the back of his mind, deciding instead to quietly laugh along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these drabbles probably won't be in order from now on! they'll be from various points of their lives as it happens :) might do a longer chapter with a specific story idea but i'll make sure to warn you in the summary!!!!! 
> 
> if you like the scp content, make sure to check out my other works!!! <3 and leave a comment/kudos!


	4. SCP - 111812

**Item #:** SCP - 111812

**Object Class:** Keter

**Special Containment Procedures:** As of writing this, SCP - 111812 is not able to be contained and SCP - 111812-A is still at large. Foundation employees are instructed to keep watchful eyes out for any sightings of SCP - 111812-A or any of it’s known companions and contacts. Due to the nature of SCP - 111812, it is not possible to contain it, however the beings and objects that come to and from the anomaly are to be immediately contained and documented when they can be. Any sightings of SCP - 111812-A are to immediately be logged for tracking, and any civilian encounters are to be administered Class B amnestics. Any items that have been identified as visiting or are connected to SCP - 111812 are to be researched at length, and stored in a specialized unit at Site ██.

**Description:** SCP - 111812 is a pocket dimension that lies in between this world and another. Travel between this dimension and our own is strictly limited, the only known occurrence of such being SCP - 111812-A. From what we know of materials gathered from SCP - 111812-A, SCP - 111812 is a dimension of floating islands, with the main island being the largest and hosting a “castle” made of an unidentified, white stone-like substance. According to the material held by the Foundation, this castle is filled with rooms that change and shift when traversed upon, however, if the traveler knows where they intend to go then the room will appear to them without any trouble. Numerous readings have been found and brought back, and so far two of them have been held by the Foundation until their disappearances a few months after being acquired. These books will be referred to as SCPs 111812-B and 111812-C respectively. These books were written by a being that is a presumed occupant of the other dimension, although they have never been seen or heard according to the Foundation’s knowledge. It is unknown if this entity has any ulterior motive.

All of the Foundation’s knowledge about SCP - 111812 comes from a product of said dimension, also known as SCP - 111812-A. SCP - 111812-A is a twenty-two year old human male, approximately five foot eleven inches with brown hair and eyes. He previously worked as personnel for the Foundation, known as Agent Karl Jacobs, and worked alongside Agent █████ for a period of time before returning to Site 73. He was assigned to work on SCP - 407 before being moved to SCP - 111812, which at the time was simply under the SCP classification. From now on, it will be referred to as either it’s SCP number ID or as “Project In-Between”. Agent Jacobs worked for two weeks with SCP - 111812, which had taken the shape of a journal for the time being, until one day Agent Jacobs disappeared. Three days later he returned, looking mildly frazzled, and all color had been sapped out of his clothing.

Agent Jacobs was assigned SCP status due to his newfound ability to come and go from SCP - 111812, which was able to be tracked to the journal and a sweatshirt he came back wearing. On each of these items is a swirl design in block shapes, and Agent Jacobs has confirmed that the swirl is the symbol of the “In-Between” as he knows it. After two journeys too and from SCP - 111812, Agent Jacobs went rogue. It is unclear if this is due to information he received from the entity that resides in SCP - 111812, or if it is for another reason. All of the information that has been collected about SCP - 111812 comes from the set of journals collected after Incident 111812-01, from a small apartment located in ████, █████████. 

There have been various sightings of SCP - 111812-A over the course of the past few months, each sighting happening in varying locations around the globe. Once, SCP 111812-A was seen in contact with Agent ███ ████ and SCPs 4185 and 7146. The assumption has been made that SCP 111812-A is in contact with members of a group of escaped SCPs known as [DATA EXPUNGED]. This group is not classified as dangerous, but sightings of any members are to be reported immediately to a Level 4 personnel or above. See  here for a list of known active members.

**Incident 111812-01:**

Date: █/██/████

Location: ████, █████████

At approximately 08:23 on Tuesday morning, personnel working on Site ██ in ████, █████████ were alerted to reports of sighted SCPs in town. After calling the sightings in and following procedure, multiple D-class personnel were loaded into a truck and sent out to attempt to apprehend them. The truck arrived at the apartment complex at 09:00, and under the guise of maintenance and construction crews, the personnel entered the complex. 

According to surviving personnel reports, the apartment was breached at 09:03, and SCP - 111812-A was restrained, alongside [DATA EXPUNGED]. It was at this point that [DATA EXPUNGED] attacked, using multiple domestic items as weaponry and terminated a number of personnel. The order was given to retreat, and along the way all SCPs involved managed to escape, leaving the apartment behind. Found in the apartment were multiple items of note, but in relation to SCP - 111812 was a set of journals, presumably belonging to former Agent Karl Jacobs, and recounted his experience with SCP - 111812. Below are the complete transcripted writings found, with the omission of some text in order to maintain Foundation procedure. Files are not to be accessed by any personnel under Level 3. 

There were five completed journals found. 

* * *

JOURNAL #1:

Alright. So, it’s at [REDACTED]’s request that I start keeping these, and honestly, I don’t blame him. [REDACTED] said I’m starting to remind him of a freaking dementia patient, so i guess they must be right, because I can’t remember him telling me that even as he recounts the conversation toward me now.

I’ll start from the beginning. My name is Karl Jacobs and I’m a time traveler. 

well okay that’s not really the beginning if you think about it. Time is circular and all that. But still! I’m a time traveler, and it’s because of the In-Between. I used to work for a company called The Foundation, categorizing SCPs and anomalies around the world, but one of those anomalies liked me, I guess. It’s SCP - 111812, or as I like to call it, the In-Between. 

It started a couple months ago, when i was still working for the foundation. I was instructed to do some tests with a small journal that they called SCP - 111812, and when i went to do what they said, i found myself…. In the past.

If i had to guess, and based on research I’ve done since, this one probably took place around 1600 or so. Early U.S. settlement. Think Jamestown? It was somewhere like that, way out in the woods, a tiny grungy village that i watched from above. This was the first time i was thrown back like that, so it was a little different than the times I go next. You’ll see. I got to watch from above this time, though, as the events went down. I’ll try and keep this concise.

It was a village, with only a few inhabitants. I can’t remember their names anymore, but something was… wrong. Over the nights, one by one, people were killed off. They murdered an orphan in their fear, and the farmer he lived with. They wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, but by the time they figured it out it was too late. The cat farmer and one of the builders in the town had gone insane, and killed them all, twisting the story around and executing innocents until it was too late.

I saw [REDACTED] there as well. he died the first night, but his body was missing in the morning. When i remembered this, i asked him about it, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. Normal for [REDACTED] i guess, but still. It’s something worth noting.

After showing me the village, the In-Between pulled me back to it. I was only there for a moment, and all I can remember from that first visit is cold white stone and a flower. That’s not surprisingly, since my memory isn’t very good these days, but I did manage to write some things down in my main journal before I forgot when I returned. This one’ll be separate, I think. I think I’ll make a bunch of these. Maybe start a library, try to piece together what’s happening to me. i’m glad I have [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], they’re very understanding even if they have no idea what’s happening either. Each of us have our own issues with the Foundation too, so--

**[ALL JOURNAL TEXT BEYOND THIS POINT IS RESTRICTED TO LEVEL 5 PERSONNEL.]**

JOURNAL #2:

Time for book #2! I think i am going to start a little tiny library!!! [REDACTED] helped me set up a bookshelf that I can put on my desk, so every time I return i’m going to write what happened and keep all these together. I’ll put the main key events in my regular journal-- the one with the swirl, but these will be nice to have in case something happens or just as fluff.

Okay, I’ll jump right into it this time. No more floundering around. The second trip I took with the In-Between was actually into the future, which I’ve confirmed with [REDACTED] and everyone else. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will, and they’re excited for it!

I appeared in the future, and this time, i could walk and talk around! I was myself! It was really hot out and we were all on a beach-- it was me, [NAMES REDACTED]. The beach was pretty private, and we hopped around for a little bit before finding this old book. I wasn’t sure if this was in the future or something so i was pretty unsure the whole time, but we managed to follow the clues and hints around. The beach day turned into a whole adventure. We went on an old ship, found a lighthouse, and followed the story of an old pirate captain named Blockbeard. My Foundation training is telling me something is up with the whole thing, considering I’ve never heard of a pirate named Blockbeard, but whatever. I’m not here to think about what the Foundation would think. I’m here to record what happened to us! 

We followed a bunch of clues that in the end, led us to the tomb of Captain Blockbeard himself. There was some pretty impressive stuff there-- gold, a bunch of old artifacts, and this really cool sword. [REDACTED] got pretty into the whole pirate thing, swinging the sword around and calling us matey. It was funny, and just after we found the sword and stuff i was sent back into the future. Since I didn’t know who they were yet, it was kind of confusing, but this one has made more sense since i met [NAMES REDACTED]. I can’t wait to live this one again-- it was kind of fun! I can’t mess with it thought and suggest anything about beaches, or tell them too much about it. I don’t want to mess up time more than i already have. One more journal, then i’ll be caught up on my travels and i can start writing every time i come back from a new one.

My memory’s gotten a little bit worse lately. I’m glad I have [REDACTED] around. He’s helpful. I can’t forget who I am.

JOURNAL #3:

I’m forgetting more and more. This one might be short, boys.

I went to the future again for this trip. There’s not much to say-- the city i was in was underwater, with huge reinforced glass walls and an atrium full of plant life and--

I was in someone else’s body. It wasn’t me, it was some kid named Isaac, a fisherman with a bunch of his friends. They discovered the city, and a man who still lived inside it. He was the last one yet, and he gave me the heebie-jeebies from the start. I couldn’t do anything about it, though. We learned about the city’s creators, the people they worshipped. It was weird. They hero-worshipped these people, and some of the books and information seemed sort of warped. 

there was a library full of books. One of them had the swirl on it, what I’ve come to know is the In-Between’s symbol. I didn’t get a chance to look, but i wish I had. This one doesn’t end happily, journal. No, in the end, the man in the lost city of Mizu killed me and the other fisherman I discovered the place with. 

I can remember the blade in my chest, of all things. Dying doesn’t hurt as much as you think it does.

I also remember seeing the In-Between again, in more detail this time around. I didn’t get to walk around, but I remember seeing white walls and arches. Another flower. A book, maybe? I can’t remember what it said, but I know there was a book. I think someone’s trying to communicate with me, but i can’t figure out what they want or what they’re trying to say. I guess I’ll have to wait until next time to figure it out.

Til the next one.

JOURNAL #4:

It happened again.

I don’t really get to choose when I go. It just kind of happens in the blink of an eye. Sometimes I can urge it to happen with the journal, kind of messing with it, or if I put on the sweatshirt that I came back with the first time. I didn’t write about the first time, actually. I can’t remember most of it. Technically, journal #1 should be journal #2, but I’m too lazy to go back and fix it. Besides, the first journey wasn’t important, I don’t think. Especially if I can’t remember it too well.

It’s pretty fresh in my head, this trip. I arrived as myself, somewhere in [REDACTED] and probably in the mid-1800s or so. I got plopped down right in the doorway of this huge mansion in a forest, and since the In-Between isn’t exactly subtle I figured that must be where this story takes place. It was. I met a rich guy, the one who owned the mansion, and attended a masquerade ball he was holding. There was lots of wine, which was nice! He accepted my lies about being a rich person with ease, and my clothes changed this time to fit as well. The party was pretty small. Just me and a few other rich people. We danced and played a few party games-- it was honestly boring at first. rich people don’t have much going on except alcohol and drugs, i think.

Then the lights went out. It was like Clue. every time the lights went out, another person died. We tried to figure it out, tried to suss out the killer, but nothing seemed to line up and person after person died. The millionaire who owned the mansion-- I can’t remember his name otherwise I’d google him-- he led me into this back room he had, behind a painting. It was a spider painting. I can remember that. He led me into the room, saying we had to hide, that it was a panic room, but it wasn’t really. Inside there was this…. Infection. I’m gonna pick at [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] later, try to see if they know any SCPs that sound similar, but I sure haven’t heard of anything like it. It was so creepy. It got into your head, whispering things, and the millionaire was clearly affected. So was his butler.

The butler killed me. Everyone else was dead. I was the last one. They said they had to… feed it. 

It was a weird trip, journal. It gets weirder.

I saw the In-Between for sure this time. It was a huge white castle, floating on an island in what seemed like endless sky. There were books there, too. Something warning me about my memory, how I could lose it and myself. I don’t want to lose myself. There’s more to the In-Between, i know it. I have to go back and figure it out. I have to keep this library going, to remind myself. [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] are doing what they can, but I haven’t told them all of it. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.

Don’t forget who you are.

JOURNAL #5:

It’s been a while, journals! Library! Everyone! The In-Between left me alone for a little bit I think, which is good, because GUESS WHO GOT ENGAGED!!!!!!!

it was a long time coming. No one’s surprised, much less me. But exciting still. I’m still forgetting things but after this recent trip, I’m feeling a bit upbeat. 

I was thrown into the past again! It was like something out of one of the old Wild West movies that [REDACTED] likes watching, with all the macho men and cowboys. I think he just likes their butts. But anyways, I was in the Wild West. it was an old frontier looking town, with a couple weird townspeople around too. The bartender was definitely some kid. Wayyy too young to be serving alcohol, but it was (again) the Wild West. Who am I to judge? 

I definitely stuck out this trip. I was myself, to a point where some of the people in the town were almost suspicious of me. It was around the same time as the last trip I went on. In one of the newspapers I found, there was an article about the millionaire who murdered me last time. He had stolen a lot of money-- I think something’s going on that I can’t place yet. Something to do with the infection I saw last time. But that’s not the point of this journal.

It really was like a movie. Me and the townspeople decided to drive out the bandits, teaming up and practicing our shooting at the range. I was surprisingly good. The Sheriff-- an older guy with a dead eye and sharp teeth-- was also really good. So we decided to challenge the bandits to a duel. We hung around until they showed up, and the barkeeper kid actually ended up dying. The Sheriff seemed really torn up about it, so I told him to hang back and I took the last shot at the bandits and won! We managed to win, and it was great. We did lose the barkeeper kid (and the sheriff seemed pretty upset over it) but the bandits were gone and overall, this time things went really well. I guess it shows that happy endings can happen, even if there’s a little bit of tragedy. 

Ended up in the In-Between again afterwards. I walked around the castle a lot this time. It was the longest I’d ever been there. Every time I left a hallway it would change, like the place was morphing around me, but despite it I arrived where I wanted to go every single time.

I did find this weird book. It just said the same thing over and over: Don’t stray from the path. But the rest of the In-Between was normal-- other than seeing myself. I saw a bunch of different mes, all from different journeys I think, ones I haven’t taken yet. None of them interacted with me, so I guess this is going to be a one time thing? I’m not sure. I found a secret book as well-- it told me about the one that warned me not to stray off the path. But the others were kind. There was knowledge about me losing my memory, how I can figure out the secrets of this place, stuff like that. I’m almost excited to go back. I feel like I’m missing something…. Something big. I’ll figure it out eventually. I can’t forget who I am, but I have to keep traveling through time as well. It’s important. The books told me. The books will keep telling me.

I won’t lose myself. 

* * *

The journals finish here. There was a stack of small empty notebooks of the same size in the room where these were found, and it looked like one had been hastily torn from the front of the shelf. It is assumed that the private journal SCP - 111812-A speaks about is the first journal that the Foundation acquired, and that took hold of SCP - 111812-A and began his anomaly. Any future writings that come to light must immediately be recorded and stored. As of now, these journals will remain in a specialized unit in a classified Site. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> this was a heavy chapter! wordy, i know! but i hope you enjoyed. i stuffed so much lore into this bad boy................ wink.
> 
> if you did enjoy, be sure to leave a kudos/comment!!!!! it's super appreciated!!!!!! and check out my other works as well!! <3 <3 <3


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